Deprivation
by CognacGirl-CG
Summary: Companion fic to 'Revival'. Allison Sark Will'ish Allison's POV after leaving Will.


**Title: **Deprivation   
**Author:** CG  
**Feedback:** Would love to hear what you have to say. If criticism, please make it constructive.   
**Disclaimer:** Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone, and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot productions.   
**Spoilers:** A tiny bit of speculation, but no true spoilers that I know of. Post Succession.   
**Summary:** Companion fic of sorts to 'Revival'. Allison's POV.    
**Ship:** Will/Allison/Sark – the real triangle  
**Rating:** R–for a bit of language and adult situations.  
**Classification:** Not sure. It's reflective, but not too angsty.    
**Distribution:** Cover Me. All others please ask.

A/N – Thanks to **Fawkes** for the beta, and **Waterdancer** for the idea bouncing as always. If the italics don't work the ** will separate flashbacks. 

"They're less than fifteen minutes away."

Allison's heart fluttered in both anticipation and apprehension as she heard her right hand, Marcos, relay the message over her cell phone. Keeping all her inner emotions clear from her voice, even when speaking to one of the only men who would never question what she said or did, she quickly ended the call.

"Thank you, Marcos," she replied. "I'll be up in my room." 

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, now completely used to the identity she wasn't born with, and fixed the unevenness of her lip gloss with her forefinger in preparation for the arrival. Her hair was sleekly styled in loose waves around her face, the rest of her make-up was moderate and flawlessly applied, and the bodice of her red chiffon dress clung to her curves just right and then flowed in a smooth A-line down to her ankles. She smiled at her reflection, knowing that at any given time both of them expected nothing less than perfection.  

But her appearance wasn't just for him. Well, she admitted with a smile as she thought about seeing him for the first time in over two years, maybe it _was_ mostly for him. It also felt good to feel the softness of the material against her skin; feel the warmth of Mexico against her bare skin like passion packed kisses, probing, loving…

A haunted expression faced her in the mirror as memories of kind, warm, and wet lips exploring her body, whispering terms of affection that she sometimes heard on the night wind, flashed before her eyes. The guilt she felt over that one night with Will Tippin was unnecessary, she kept telling herself. As far as anyone but she was concerned, that night had never happened. 

_"Allison."_

Having her name expelled so adoringly from his lips was the most bittersweet feeling. After all the pain she had caused him, all the time she had spent watching over him, keeping him safe, just that one word alone was repayment enough. Even though she was fully aware that he truly didn't owe her a damn thing. 

And, to her surprise, and torment every time she thought she heard her name carried on the ocean breeze, it had only taken her two years to get that and so much more than she had ever imagined.  

Two years of questioning looks behind her back from those she gave instruction to. Two years of ignoring the murmurs and gossip. There weren't any water-coolers, but the stories spread. What _were her motivations in keeping tabs on a former mark while helping plan the extraction of another man? A man admired and respected by those under her tutelage._

They wouldn't understand–not that she ever felt the need to explain herself or her action in regards to either man. No one had the balls to ask her, which was how she wanted it to be. Yet even if one of them did and she felt inclined to answer the person, she wasn't sure that she could. 

The nightmares that she used to have about the pained look in Will's eyes as she shoved that knife to its hilt in his stomach had become less frequent over the years. After last week, spending just that short time being loved in his arms, she had a feeling that they would stop completely. Which was good. She needed to move on with her life, with the man she was supposed to be with. The man who, unlike Will, was so much like her. Wanted the same things that she wanted. Shared some of the same scars, physical and emotional, that she did.

She lightly traced the puckered skin of one of her bullet wounds near her shoulder, the only one that hadn't successfully been covered up by plastic surgery. It was one of the only reminders she had of that night, now that she ended all surveillance of Will Tippin. And maybe, she thought, there was a reason why it needed to stay. 

Along with feeling the scar under her fingertips came a flood of memories. Fighting Sydney Bristow after ice cream, of all things, had blown her cover. Seeing the other woman fall to the ground, too as Allison had fought to stay conscious. All that pain she had felt, sharp and burning. The blood that had flowed so freely from her body, so dark and sticky. She hadn't thought that she would make it, and had likely wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for her savior. The man who had never once questioned her, and who had stayed with her from her beginning as Francie–the best right hand one could ask for.

Marcos. 

                                                                                    **

"How many shots?" the familiar brunette asked, fitting his gun in the small of his back as he bent down to reach her.

_Allison saw the twinkle of concern in Marcos' eyes and knew she looked as bad as she felt. "Three," she barely whispered. "God it hurts."_

_"Three shots," he smiled then, that reassuring smile he always offered when things seemed bleak. "You expected it not to?" _

_She laughed, or choked rather as the pain consumed her further. "Just get me out of here."_

_"I've already got someone on the way," he replied as he looked around the destroyed room. "Did you need me to do anything else in here? Need anything taken out of this place before we go?"_

_She tried to look around the room for anything that she needed to keep from the hands that would eventually come and assess the situation, but any thoughts besides pain were scattered. "Give me a minute to compose myself. I can't think." _

_Marcos nodded, walking over in Sydney Bristow's direction. "And what of her?" He placed a hand on her throat, checking for a pulse. "She's still alive."_

_Allison breathed as deeply as she could, trying to keep herself calm and collected. "I was told to leave her here if this should happen."_

_"Okay," he replied, moving toward the door when his pager beeped. "They're here. I'll be back in a minute."_

_She fought the darkness as it began to draw her in to its comfortable arms, knowing in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something. Her eyes fluttered shut and when they opened again, she was outside, laying on a cushioned surface being carried by men she didn't recognize. She looked around and found Marcos, standing behind the open doors of a waiting van. _

_"They'll take you somewhere safe," Marcos told her as they lifted her inside. She couldn't keep the look of concern from her face, knowing that he wasn't coming with her. "I've been told to wait here until another team arrives to take care of the other two."_

_"Other _two_?" she asked in confusion, until she remembered a grimacing face with tormented blue eyes. The first person that she'd ever had to hurt after she'd developed honest feelings for him. _

_"Will," she spoke absently, unable to keep the emotion from her face and voice. Was he dead? She looked at Marcos as he studied her so intently. She couldn't ask him to do anything about it if Will wasn't dead yet, could she? What was done was done–there was no going back, right?_

_"He's still alive," he told her, as if reading her thoughts. "Barely."_

_Her eyes closed as heavy thoughts kept spiraling around in her head.  She could only begin to imagine the exact repercussions of deviating from plan Could she live with herself if she did anything but change that plan? _

_She knew it was risky, knew everyone would question her if she did anything, but she couldn't just do nothing. But she had been doing close to nothing for so long that she truly didn't know. Looking into Marcos' eyes, she made her first choice weighed on her emotions. _

_"Can you see that he's safely cleared of the house?" she asked him, hoping that if he didn't understand that he would still follow through. "And there's a journal. In Francine Calfo's room. Top drawer of her dresser."_

His face was a blank slate as he considered her request. That almost terrified her worse than any anger or countering of her authority over him would have. He was showing the exact way she should be acting. Cold, uncaring, get the job done at any cost. Revealing no weaknesses to subordinates. 

_Then to her surprise he flashed a hint of understanding in his eyes–had she not been looking so deeply and directly into him she would have never noticed it–and it relieved her more than it should have. _

_Marcos didn't speak as he left her to be carted away in the van. Didn't look back at her either as he entered the house to follow through with the most unprofessional directive she had ever made in her young life. One that she vowed she would try her damnedest not to make again. _

**

But she did. Almost every single day after that day she made the same mistake. Every time she received notification from the people who were watching Will Tippin's every move she had been reminded of that one error. The failure she didn't even have the balls to consider one. 

Her cell phone chirped, snatching her out of her reverie. "Yes," she answered.

"They've arrived."

She exhaled quietly, but deeply, feeling overwrought with anxiety over his closeness. "Send him up, straight away."

"Oh God," she whispered, her feelings of uncertainty beginning to take their toll. This was crazy, she admonished her body's behavior, this was exactly what she had been working for over the past two years. Starting the day after she found out he had been taking into custody. She wanted him. Needed him. Missed him. What was her problem?

But the freshness of her encounter with Will–_This is so wrong, but I don't want to stop–_his kiss swollen lips so close to hers as she spoke–_Then don't stop–_those same lips reclaiming hers once more and leaving their marks all over her needy body–kept infiltrating her mind. 

Her nipples tautened as she remembered his wet tongue laving and his teeth nibbling at them. There were few places he didn't touch on her at night with one or the other–_Oh God_–few places that also didn't want to beg to feel either one again. 

Even though she knew it was impossible, she couldn't keep from yearning for it again. Couldn't keep from longing to feel the fullness of him slide inside her, taking her to places she hadn't been to in so long. 

"Stop it, you chit," she scolded herself as she slid her feet into her deep red stilettos. "It's sexual deprivation. That's all it is."

Even if it wasn't, right now she forced herself to believe it. She topped off her appearance with her necklace, the ruby and diamond one that he had given her months before he was taken in, and gave one last glance at her appearance in the full-length mirror. _Perfect._

Smiling at her success, she caught sight of the doorknob turning and the door opening through the mirror. All of her nervousness, her insecurities, all of the dread she had felt over this moment happening again disappeared when he stepped in the room and closed the door behind him. 

Her breath caught at the sight of him standing just within her private space, the setting sun shining through her window, surrounding him in shades of gold. He was just as familiar to her now as he had been over the years even though she noticed his shorter hair. All it took was one look at the slight crookedness of his lip as he smirked while staring into her eyes through her reflection. His gaze slowly followed down her body, assessing her as well, then moved back up to lock eyes again.  

"You look well, Ms. Doren." He slid his hands in his pant pockets and glanced around the room, seeing the few furnishings in the otherwise empty space. "Lonely, but well." 

The fact that she had used the same words on another person completely escaped her as he stepped closer. She turned to face him as he came within a few feet of her, and a beguiling smile curled her lips. 

"Well why don't you come closer and do something about it."

He smiled at her, and that–along with the darkened look of desire in his eyes–was just enough to make her forget everything. Especially the word 'deprivation'. 


End file.
